


A Brother Mourning

by An0nym1ty



Series: Dispute of Two Turian Brothers [2]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Batarian Side Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 07:36:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17524550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/An0nym1ty/pseuds/An0nym1ty
Summary: “Another death down in Chora’s Den. An eye witness claimed the victim had been talking to a Turian with light grey spots, grey plates and blue markings.” And Arcturus had to fight back a keen, although he did allow himself to wince. He knew exactly who it was. And he was just as reluctant to turn him in, as he was to actually speak about him.





	1. Recognizable.

Arcturus sighed, and stood from his desk, as his partner approached him. Her expression was grim, and she looked reluctant to tell him anything.

“What is it, Lesilya?” He asked, not unkindly. Simply apprehensive. The Asari’s brows pinched together.

“Another death down in Chora’s Den. An eye witness claimed the victim had been talking to a Turian with light grey spots, grey plates and blue markings.” And Arcturus had to fight back a keen, although he did allow himself to wince. He knew exactly who it was. And he was just as reluctant to turn him in, as he was to actually speak about him.

“I assume dispatch wants us to check it out?” His partner nodded, and he sighed.

“I’m sorry, Arc, this can’t be easy for you..” It wasn’t, but he wasn’t about to complain. Not when his partner already knew his pains, his guilt, and his past. She is his closest friend, after all. His best friend.

“No, but it can’t be helped..” He wished it wasn’t this way. But he was off, once more to investigate a death, likely a murder, with one suspect on the list. A Turian that goes by the name of Lionfish. Suiting. As the fish were invasive, defensive, dangerous, and painfully difficult to get rid of. In another life, he knew this Turian to be someone different.

As they walked, he stamped down the thought. But he knew it was bound to haunt him later tonight. So simply, he kept his mouth shut, and his subvocals keening. He avoided the eyes of other Turians, as they heard his crying. Some were curious, some judgemental. But none knew of why he was crying.

–

Entering Chora’s Den was difficult, as a few employees knew him by name. He was trying to get clean, for his friend’s sake, at least, but it was difficult when his past hung over his head like that execution device that humans once used in the history books. Guillotines, he believed they were called.

He made his way around the few other officers to kneel beside the body. Forensics and the morgue would soon explain the human’s true cause of death, but for the moment, it was assumed that he’d gone into anaphylactic shock. An allergic reaction.

On the summary of another officer, the man was ID’d as Alan Smith. A man that owned small pawn shop down in the lower wards. He had a family of three. One wife, and twin girls. Over the last few weeks, a Batarian and Human pair had been harassing him over a refund that he refused to give.

And the officer that had given the summary had been the one to look over the murders of said pair, just three days ago.

Arcturus grimaced, and he had to look away. This was the work of Lionfish. Just enough information on both him, and the victim, to make the case fresh, before he disappeared again. It was a cruel game that the other Turian played on them. But he would never protest it, if it was deemed punishment for strictly Arcturus himself. Granted, he detested the deaths of the victims, but if Lionfish stepped forwards to punish him?

Arcturus Dophero would take it without complaint. He deserved it. At least, that’s how he felt.

–

With no proper evidence, yet, to give any of C-Sec a lead, the case was left open, but considered closed. And Arcturus worked through the rest of his day in a haze.

He could vaguely remember seeing a Volus complaining about a racist Salarian who wouldn’t sell something that had recently been reviewed as unsafe. He couldn’t tell whether or not he had dealt with an Asari-Elcor divorced couple that could not make up their minds as to who got what after the lawsuit.

Once at home, he found himself mechanically reaching for a bottle of booze. He didn’t bother to stop himself, as he twisted off the top, plopped down at his dining room table, and sat alone drinking. He went through the first bottle within an hour. His second within fourty-five minutes, and half of his third within thirty.

Exhaustion from the day’s events soon caught up with him. His head hit the table and he was out like a light.

–

“Arcturus! Big brother! Help me! Please!” Everything was too hot. Fire blazed around the pair, and the air was polluted with the smell of burning heat sinks, of smoke, and gasoline. “I’m scared! Don’t leave me!”

–

He shot up from the table, his half empty bottle shattering against the floor as he flailed. His heart beat out of his chest, and he keened loudly, heartbroken.

He took in his surroundings, and processed where he was. It took him a moment to realize; then he laid his forehead back onto the table.

And he dry sobbed.


	2. Off-Duty Drunk.

The next morning, he awoke to worried subvocals and irritated main vocals. And his own shriek as cold water hit his skin and plates. He flailed wildly, almost falling from his chair if not for the steady hands that caught him.

“Spirits, Arcturus! You’re a damn mess!” Vakarian. He allowed the other Turian to right him, before he ran a hand down his own face plates. 

“Leave me be, Garrus. Isn’t it my day off?”

“Yeah, but you weren’t responding to any of Lesilya’s messages.” Arcturus grunted, and then groggily pulled up his omnitool. 

‘I won’t be able to make it to game day.’

‘Fesk’s sick.’

Who again..? Oh, right. Fesk Sancorok. Batarian, but a good guy. He’s trying to be a better person. For Lesilya, at least. He loves her. Arcturus knew that much. And Fesk was doing far more than he was, in the ‘cleaning up their act’ department.

‘It’s pretty bad, we’re heading to Huerta.’

‘He’s been vomiting up his guts all night.’

‘You good?’

‘Please tell me you didn’t drink yourself into a coma?’

‘Arcturus??’

‘Dophero!!’

‘I’m sending Garrus to make sure you’re okay’

‘Goddess, why are you such an idiot’

His shoulders slumped, and he sighed heavily.

“I’ll.. I’ll message her back.” At the look Garrus gave him, he hastily added. “Soon. Soon, I promise.” 

“You could get fired for this, y’know.” He took a seat at the table, across from him. “Like Harkin.”

“No, cause Harkin drinks on the job. I drink while off work, and I sober myself up before going into work.” Even still, that did not deter the other Turian from giving him a blank look, and a subvocal growl of what could be a deadpanned expression. “But yeah, I know the risks.”

“Then why bother?”

Arcturus shook his head. Garrus is a good guy with good morals, but he’s seen nothing yet. He hasn’t seen the nastiness the rest of the galaxy could promise to provide.

“It’s none of your business.” He replied as curtly as possible. He rose from his chair, and crouched, where he began to pick up the shattered pieces of glass from the floor.

“It is if my friend is willing to risk getting fired from his job. His job that he’s once gushed about being his opportunity for a clean slate.”

“And a clean slate is what I want.”

“Arcturus.” Garrus snapped in warning.

The glass pieces fell from his hand, and scattered across the floor again, as he allowed himself to rock back, and sit on the floor. He heaved a defeated sigh and cocked his head back.

“I’ll need a drink.” The other Turian gave him a scornful look, and Arcturus was quick to bat him off of his high sky car. “If I’m sober, I’ll clam up with tears. And you’ll get nothing.” Garrus was reluctant, reasonably so, but compliant as he handed him the nearly empty bottle from off the table.

With his head already cocked back, he downed the rest of the burning liquid, and sputtered softly when he finished. A grimace in his voice, and strain lacing his words, he spoke.

“Well, firstly, I grew up in a gang, with two younger brothers..”


End file.
